Psychoanalyze My Deductions
by CastingAnthems
Summary: James Moriarty has had a son. And now that Sherlock Holmes is horribly aware of his succession he must go undercover as a therapist to infiltrate the possible future of this rising star. But it won't be all fun and games when Jim's son already has a wonderful therapist named Hannibal Lecter who is dammed to see him thrive into the next generation of criminals. James's son POV.
1. William: I Still Hear Him

_**A/N: Hey there! It's Colvin again! This is a potentially new project i'm starting. It all depends on you guys by letting me know you like it with Follows, Favorites and i love Reviews so don't be afraid. **_

_About the story: This a weak crossover of BBC's telly show Sherlock and NBC's TV show Hannibal. I do not own any rights to the shows or characters but the main one, because i made him up. All of this is based off acknowledgment up to Sherlock season 3 and Hannibal season 2. However, the time period on this story is taken place is many years later in Sherlock and around the beginning of season two for Hannibal. I say it's a weak crossover because it has more to with Sherlock than Hannibal. But characters from both shows will appear. This story will not be super long and i will update according to the popularity of it. _

_More about the synopsis: This story is about James Moriarty's son and his struggle to decide the future for himself. His son's name is James as well but i will try my best not to confuse you between the two. Anyhow, Sherlock finds out that Jim has a son so he goes undercover as a therapist to determine the threat level and to possibly steer him away from ending up like his father. Things don't go as planned when Sherlock learns just how fucked up James is. Hint: William is Sherlock. But on the other hand James has a 'under the table' therapist, Hannibal Lecter who wants to make sure he fulfills his fathers wishes. Influencing him to be a criminal, a killer. James exhibits two different sides of himself to Sherlock and Hannibal, so being an uprising actor... who is he really putting a performance on for? Could James have his fate already predetermined? _

_Some pretty cool stuff: Believe it or not this story does have ties to my main story Recreating Love (A Tale of What Sherlock Wanted) because as you will learn later on a goal James must complete is taking out Sherlock Holmes son Roman Adler. (Currently i have not posted it far enough into my story for you to see a connection.) And in this story Sherlock IS aware Roman is his son. _

_~Each chapter i will go back and forth between Sherlock and Hannibal.~ _

**Psychoanalyze My Deductions**

**By: Colvin**

**Chapter One: William: I Can Still Hear Him**

The dreadful sound of his voice echoing in my ears. Screaming the same words over, and over and over again. Each syllable vibrating my skull making my brain burst in flames with a eternal fire. Burning me alive from the inside out. My lungs filling with ash, coughing, choking, gasping for air. I can't breathe. The deep untouchable pain in my chest made me clench onto my clothes desperately trying to tear them off. I could bare them no longer. The conflagration was spreading rapidly from my brain to my chest now to my body. It was liquid hot. Bones disintegrating, skin melting to nothing. I was a puddle of silent screams and a roaring fire.

However, my current state didn't matter to him. He could see me, how much pain i was in, how little air came to my lungs. The inside out burning of my body. Ignoring my dismemberment he continued to yell. Shouting his inferno, unforgiving words at me. All other noise was drown out by his raging effect. I couldn't hear anything but him so i was helpless to shut him out. I mentally could not control the tone, volume or words uttering out of his mouth.

When i got brave to once whisper for him to shut-up his voice maximized, causing me to scream almost louder than him. The taste of dry flaky ash present was in my mouth. The pain composing made me feel like blood was falling out of my ears. Warm blood running down the sides of my steaming face.

Just when i thought he couldn't get any louder he began to shout mercilessly. The command created my whole body to shake like thunder and the area around me spin like a merry-go-round. His harsh spoken words the music of this terrifying ride;

"_KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!_"

Making it stop! Please, oh _God, _make it stop!

My blazing structure suddenly became light, fuzzy and weightless. My throbbing vocal cords quieted down as i embraced this new feeling. The fire was dying out as the flames turned to water. Sweat. His voice was still blasting but from the distant almost like it was fading out, drifting away still saying the same thing at me over, and over, and over again.

But the near relaxation only lasted a few seconds before i felt my body shake involuntarily and not the trembling my adrenaline glands overdosed me with, a forceful pull, like someone was intentionally doing it. The struggle to concentrate on the quick jerks made other details about the placement flood in. Indefinite, yet sharp notes commencing in. Starting off slowly, then with each burst of noise getting louder, becoming clearer each time. It took about three times before i knew what it was. The sound of a dog barking, panicked. Under five seconds between each bark.

Like a whispered carried in the wind i heard my name. Someone was calling upon me. I listened freely at the sound of a dog barking and my name being called. Shifting in and out of loud sounds and back to hushed buzzes.

Then, out of no where my body was thrown up against something hard. My back hitting it first then my head followed. The surprising yank made my pain receptors electrify me. Shock me. My brain's fire was put out and all that remained was scarring embers. I could feel air rushing back in my lungs again. Filling me up enough to explode. My hands were shaking as i could feel them cupping my ears. Blocking out his voice.

Now the barking was at normal volume as well as the worried voice. It was deep, carrying much greater volume then the dog's. Talking right at me, right in my face. A male's voice shouting and by the accent of my name i could tell they weren't American. The voice was charming so i listened to it call for me. Not answering for i knew they would stop.

"James! Can you hear me?!"

It hadn't occurred me that my eyes were squeezed shut until i tried to match the voice up with a face only to see black.

"James look at me!" The voice called out again.

I opened my eyes quickly and i was blinded by the light of day. Stinging my pupils back shut. I forced them back open, cloudy, watery vision making everything shake. Blurry. But i did my best to look at the man calling for me. A door covered most of his body and the glare of the brightness made his figure black. All i couldn't be sure about was the paleness of his face, perturbed, deranged eyes staring down at me. Trepidation. His hair had a unique shape so i assumed it was curly. Casting a reddish brown hue on it. His clothes and the way they hung on him i could tell they were formal. Black and slenderizing. He was a face i have never seen before so i coiled deeper into my confined place. My closet. I was inside my closet. My perfectly hung clothes swayed above me, smelling like fresh flowers. I was cornered and with nothing to protect me. Defenseless. So trying to mask my panicked state choked out fierce words, "Wh...who are you? What are you doing here?"

From the distance i heard the dog again. Sniffing at the closed half of the closet. Letting out agitated whines, scratching at the door trying to get in. By the intensity of noise it was making it made me remember i had a dog. My German Shepherd companion. He could protect me.

"Disco!" I called.

The blurred man's face moved away and the structure of my dog piled in the closet with me. Dramatically smelling my face and hair. Licking the running tears from my cheeks while making weak cries. I grabbed handfuls of his furr, still shaking i pulled him close to me. Ready to sick him on the man at any second. Disco was my only protection. His large size shielded most of my body.

I looked back up at the man.

"Who are you?" I asked sternly.

"I'm your therapist, William. Your agent hired me."

The deep concentration of his accent made me take a couple minutes to understand his words. My mind was a complete train wreck so proper thinking wasn't possible. Every thought only lasted a couple moment before a wrenching pain pulsed. I couldn't remember how i got where i am, let alone why this man was here. I clung to my dog, trying to remember. The agonizing feeling of the shocking pain made me grind my teeth together. It was barely there. My agents words speaking in a inattentive tone, "_I've hired you a therapist. He'll be over next week, Tuesday, around two o'clock_."

"Are you okay?" He asked leaning into the closet.

Words. They would not form. I could not speak a word. I just looked at him helplessly. My mouth open, attempting to sound but a raspy squeak leaped out. Eye filling back up with tears again. I wasn't okay. _God!_ I was far from okay. I could never be okay with the screaming of his voice. He demolishes every human part of me when his voice became deafening.

As he waited for me replied i faintly began to hear his voice again. In the back of my mind. Silent, still and restfully whispering. He taunted me.

"_Kill him._"

I held my ear's again preparing to hear the frightening rumble of repeated words explode my ear drums. To set my body on fire. Letting the tears rush down my face as my dog licked them away. My chest starting to inhale, exhale, inhale racily. Anxious, scared, and afraid.

When his volume remained bearable i thought it would be safe to speak, but carefully; "I… I can still he… hear him." I slowly said to my _therapist _with wide eyes.

"Who James? Who is speaking to you?"

My mouth crooked a couple times before i quietly said, "My father."

-End.

_ There you go. Hope you liked it. Next chapter is Hannibal. :D_


	2. Hannibal: Remind Me Again

**Psychoanalyze My Deductions.**

**By: Colvin**

**Chapter Two: Hannibal: Remind Me Again**

Okay, now i wasn't no Harrison Ford or even a Christian Bale, (I should have gotten that part in American Psycho, not him. It's what i do.) but i felt i had a net worth of at least forty million so i was more than welcomed to let myself in. Waiting wasn't something i did. I was a meaning more complex than waiting. I believe i deserved utmost respect even for the little accomplishments i've made so far. Not the whole cater to my every whim but don't make me wait kinda of thing. I was above that.

Hannibal wasn't late, per-say, he just took his good ol' time coming to that door to let me in. I could tell most of the time he prayed i canceled. Or one day, a day that wouldn't come soon enough, i'd end up in the nut-house renouncing my dead father's name. He hated being my therapist, he hated knowing that he couldn't escape me. Send me off to an asylum to rot away in my world of sarcastic happiness and ass-backward attitude. That was a dream to him. Instead he was stuck trying to uncover, treat and cure what possibly could be going on in this funny little head of mine. Mentor me.

Don't think I made it easy for the man, that's no fun. I liked playing games as much as him. I liked being the cat who chases the mouse while he was the dog who chases me. I enjoyed acting and so did he. Hannibal played the part of my concern psychiatrist and i was the patient with more problems than our American nation. We both played our role rather well and i gave him kudos when he tried to involve me in psychoanalyzed exercises. I could tell him and i were in the right field of work. We did our jobs all too well.

Our relationship was something a little more than doctor-patient. It was hard to put a label on, _apparently_. I liked calling it _a "father with a annoying, bratty child"_ kind of thing. But he often turned that into a reflection of how i desire a father figure and i sought him out to be one. No, i just found pleasure in pushing his buttons and watching his mental composer collapse as he held back the urge to break my neck. One the other hand, Hannibal saw our relationship as a taunting tease. I was a tranquil, little orphaned deer walking freely in a thick forest lining he targeted, hunted and attacked to kill. Nevertheless, i got away. As the saying goes; "_If you don't succeed the first time, try, try again_." Poor thing gave up to easy. And it wasn't because i didn't oppose a big enough threat or the game was too hard, he was distracted.

Will Graham. Damn that man. I've known Hannibal Lecter for years longer and i was still second best. Hannibal devoted most of his time in that guy and would even go as far as rescheduling our sessions to help Will. So what the guy could get inside the heads of killers. I could get in the mindset of a murderer too as i played the part of one in a big screen Hollywood film that would earn me millions. Same thing. But that didn't matter to Hannibal, he was still preoccupied with Will. The way his face froze, broke and brightened as i said his name i could see the affect he had. I didn't like it, at all.

Going back to my "_father with a annoying, bratty child_" theory, i can say outside the humors pretense, it made sense. Will and i were his children. William was older than me by many years but to Hannibal he was the baby. The center of attention, the new toy and my competition for noticment. He metaphorically told me to grow up and play the part of 'big brother' nonetheless my pouting face and actions said otherwise. You could say sometimes i got a bit dramatic with myself. Putting emotions into the words i spoke and meaning in my steps. Which is why acting was a perfect choice for me. Conversely, what that meant to Hannibal was he carried more stress on his shoulders. God, you should see his face when i threaten Will's life. It was a game of fierce glares until i broke into laughter, assuring him it was merely child's play. Of course, we both knew i meant some of it. Waiting and fighting for attention wasn't something i did. Certainly not with that psychotic mentally unstable mutt Will. Hannibal was an aristocrat. A man of purity, riches and divine living and thankfully i could easily conform to such hypocrisy. I was born into the family while Mr. Graham was hardly welcomed. I was annoying and i was bratty. A child. His Child.

This room had too many shades of red, black and gray. Dull. Oh, i know it's to portray the composite sophisticated representation of Hannibal Lecter and his kind of therapy he offered but damn. It was so organized. Books placed straight, neat and well taken care of on mountains of shelves. A desk in the middle of the room, blank paper laying on top of it. Hannibal enjoyed drawing. He was pretty good at it too. Then just inches away the area where we sat face to face talking about staged memories and false interpretations. I found it hard to stay in one place, so, this time i choose the top of his office. You needed a ladder to get up there. I always thought it was a stupid idea.

But sitting above it all with my legs swinging careless i looked over it. Seeming like it was the first time in a thousands times. I was twenty minutes early, i'd been sitting here for about five and i was already getting annoyed. His attempt to be earlier than me failed.

I was just about to get up and leave before out of the corner of my eye i saw Hannibal appear under me. Probably from the back door. He walked tall over to the door wearing his normal million dollar face and suit. His hair combed attentively over. I waited for him to approach the door, open it and look around for me.

"Don't mind if i do." I called out to him.

He almost jumped at the sound of my voice. Freezing in place letting out a loud sigh.

"I thought i told you not come into my office uninvited." He turned to me, closing the door behind him slowly.

"You tell me a lot of things," I swung my legs around, "so i doubt i was listening when you said that."

"Obviously."

He took a seat in his usual spot. Crossing one leg over the other, hands, prayer style. Looking at me like a God. I never understood how he could stay in one stop for over five minutes without the feeling of gravity weighing you down to nothing and bugs crawling all over you. It's impossible.

"Each appointment you seem to arrive earlier than the last. Why is that?"

"Maybe i'm just excited to see you Doctor Lecter." I said with a mischievous smile on my face.

"That's your reason?"

"It's reason enough."

He shifted a bit in his seat. Already i could see the pinch of anger blink like a traffic light in him. I didn't set out to piss him off each appointment, it just kind of happen on account of my cocky attitude. But since i knew there was no way of avoiding it i made the best of it.

"How are you doing?" Hannibal said more than asked. He didn't really care.

"Do we have to start every appointment out with "_how are you doing_"? It's boring."

"It's procedure."

"It's dumb. Try again." I shot back quickly as I waved my hand around.

He sighed, "How's the movie coming along?"

"Now that better!" I yelped, "It's _fan-fucking-tastic_. They currently have me stationed in Chicago. _The Windy City_. The food is terrible and it literally smells like shit. Anyways we've recently started filming and i'm seconds from taking the director's head off. My attraction toward Kristen isn't believable. OF COURSE NOT! She looks like a horse," I gripped the bars above me, "I just wanna stove carrots down her throat and watch her choke."

He refrained from smiling, "But you were so ecstatic when you first started?"

"I was! But looking around at who i have to work with i feel like i'm at a petting zoo."

I stood up and began to pace against the railing that stopped me from falling to Hannibal's level. Distressing myself with firming and my co workers. I swear i could kill them all but where would the fun in that be?

"You stated in our last appointment that this film would boost your success."

"And it will! Of course. My character is what every idiotic American girl beats off to. I just wish that moment would come sooner than later."

"Good things come to those who wait."

I stopped walking. Turning around to Hannibal.

"Now Doctor, we both know i'm above waiting. ..._Posh_."

"You classify yourself as posh?"

"Classify? No! I am the fucking meaning of posh."

"Your erotic vocabulary may say other wise, James."

Hannibal's breathing was so calm, practiced and controlled. Like he knew how much to inhale, exhale and inhale again. Not only was his breathing serene, but his body was as well. It weightlessly sat in the chair, hugging every part. I envied his impression. My mind ran a million miles a second and my body always tried to keep up. I couldn't look like him even if i tried.

"It's self expression." I muttered more to myself than him.

"You really aren't happy with your work environment? Is that why you had an episode last week?"

What Hannibal means by '_episode' _is actually different than what he thinks it means. He thinks when i have an _episode _it's the point in which my nerves and patients reach it's peak. My blood pressure shoots through the roof and vexation courses floods my brain. I lose control of myself screaming, crying and attempting to hurt myself or others. But the other definition of an episode is when my father's voice pounds endlessly in my brain to the point in which i go mad. I could never tell Hannibal that though, he'd report me and have me placed in an asylum. That's what he wants. So yes, i did have an _episode _last week at work. You see, i'm chaos. A complete mess on the inside and when my external environment starts to become identical to myself i lose it. I reenact what is going on inside me. They could label me as dangerous, cut me from the part but i'm too expensive to replace. Fuck them.

"I'm not a patron of the world's chaos."

"Have they treated you differently?"

I laughed, "No. If they drop me, they'll wake up seeing nothing but darkness!"

Hannibal cocked his head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"I'll feed their eyes to my dog."

Even though i was higher, and farther than Hannibal i could tell he had a meek smile on his face. He was loving what was coming out of my mouth. No Saint, he was.

"You love it when i talk dirty." I chuckled.

"It's creative." He said simply put.

I shrugged and began to make my way down the ladder to Hannibal. Once my feet touched the ground i swiftly turned around and marched my way over to the spot where patients normally sat. I threw myself in the chair, feeling my hair struggle to maintain it's shape. I valued my hair more than my expensive cars.

"Remind me again. Why did i hire you as my therapist?" I leaned in towards him.

He hesitated, sighing with aggravation, "...Because two years ago you had an episode in the middle of the set and before the lights could turn back on three people were dead and four injured."

"And how did i get away with it?" I could feel the mighty wick smiled spread like butter on my face.

"You were one of the victims."

"Beautiful!" I yelled, "Well practiced! Daddy would be so proud of you, you teach me so well."

"It isn't by choice."

I puffed out my lips, "Now, that's no way to talk. My father found you to be absolutely beneficial in helping me find my inter mastermind."

"It's quite a show."

"Everyone is _hungry _for a bit of attention Doctor Lecter."

He bit his lip at my reference. Swallowing the beast inside him. Pacing, stalking and beyond pissed off he did his best to remain composed. I loved picking at him. Ticking like a clock. Time passed.

"You should invite me over for dinner." My voice said deeply.

"Exposing you to my culture isn't part of my job. Your father made it quite clear of my position."

"Since when do you follow the rules? You've never cooked me anything."

"And it will continue to stay that way as long as i'm your therapist."

"You suck." I sighed, slugging myself into the chair.

-End.

_James is such a child. But there's chapter two for you, a hint at what Hannibal and James's relationship look like. Hope you liked it, let me know Reviews! Favorite, follow please! Next chapter is back to Sherlock, we'll get a better look at him. Thanks for the support so far guy! love you ^^_

_BTW: Yes, James knows Hannibal is a killer and eats people._ That's what makes their relationship interesting.


	3. William: Quite Frankly

**Psychoanalyze My Deductions**

**By: Colvin**

**Chapter Three: William: Quite Frankly **

I've always liked the rain. I like watching it fall from the sky like endless tears. Although, when you're outside, standing, and the rain hits your skin it's a different experience than crying. It's cold, almost like little icy needles flicking you, leaving your skin chilled and exposed. The goosebumps help the drops settle into your pores. And after the skies finish bathing you in her tears the smell that is left behind is saccharine mixed with freshness. You feel clean, reborn, peaceful yet cold and abandoned. That's what rain does. Showering you in new moments for memories only to fill those few gorgeous minutes with heartbreak. Thus giving you the contract reason for tears. Crying. The water falling from your body, the eyes, burns. Stinging your cheeks as they fell. They taste like warm salt, making you feel dehydrated. I'm not sure crying has a smell. Yet if it did, what would it smell like? Something sad, i'm sure. But crying normally leaves people feeling vulnerable, hopeless, insane and irrational. Our bodies must look at tears as drops of our sanity. The more we cry, the crazier we are. Could that be possible? Was i going crazy or was i already unstable from tears long ago?

I couldn't feel much. My finger and toes feel numb, i don't have socks on. My legs are frosty glassy to the touch, even though i'm wear gray sweatpants and a sweater. The rest of body is covered but i could still shiver. I was cold. I couldn't feel my physical body attached to my soul. It froze and shattered to nothing. But when i looked out the window, seeing the rainfall I imagined i'm outside with the rain. Standing with arms wide open, letting feeling return to my body. And once the it stopped i didn't feel alone, abandoned or lost. I simply evaporated back into the sky to rain down onto someone else in need of what i wanted to feel.

Have you ever listened to the pitter-patter of rain against a window, a roof or the ground? It sounds like a crowd of people screaming your name. Cheering for you. You feel compelled to smile, listen and thank everyone as if they really mattered. And if it got real loud it sounded like an army rushing into battle, protecting their country.

Since i wasn't apprehended when the door to my hotel suite opened i continued to stare. Thinking of whatever i wanted especially the rain. That is, until just barely, i felt my dog's hot fur brush against my numb feet. A hushed growl following his movement. I didn't think much of it at first. I noticed around one or two in the afternoon the suite seemed to move. Stretching its body from long time stillness. Sending shock waves of cracks through the room. It was around said time that it looked like it was embracing the sun. Soaking up as much as the room could, making the internal temperature rise. But in the back of my distracted mind i knew that the noise wasn't the hotel room stretching. The sun was nowhere to be found for it had been raining all day.

So what could be making much noise that startled my dog? Forcing myself to peel my eyes off the glass window i swung my stiff neck in the direction my companion was facing. Fixing my eyes on the invader. It was a taller man, much taller than me dressed in costly clothing. Black slacks with a glossy leather belt. A tucked in classic white button-down and a gray overcoat reaching down an inch or two past his waist. His hair was slicked back carelessly, although you could clearly seen the struggling curls trying to stay in place. There was small strips of gray starting at the side of his forehead, above his ear that faded into the rest of his dark chocolate covered hair. His eyes caught your attention when you first saw him. A ocean, crystallized blue with swirling green. He was cleanly shaved and smelled sorta musky. Something sweet but sandalwood like, almost like Azzaro's colognes. But he stood there holding a pair of keys tightly in his hands, looking a bit uneasy.

"Heel." I laid a hand on my dog's head and didn't remove it until i felt his back hit my leg again.

"Good afternoon, James. Do you remember me?" He spoke. His voice was monotone. Deep, rich with the pitch. It had a uniqueness to it and by i that i mean not American. British? It had to be.

I returned my attention back the window. Trying my best to remember where i'd seen this man. My memory was hazy but quietly, in the back of everything i heard his voice. Calling my name with that accent over and over again; "_James, James, James answer me!_" and as soon as i could concentrate on that i heard my father's voice whisper "_Kill him._" Instantly i shut down the memory by shaking my head, shaking it off. I know who he is. He was the man that was yelling my name, witnessing me screaming for mercy as my father's voice made me go mad.

"You're my therapist, uhh, ...umm," I stuttered as i tried to remember his name.

"William."

"Yes, William." I repeated.

From the corner of my eye i watched him lay his keys down on the table, not removing his coat.

"It feels about ten degrees in here." William said as he blanketed himself in his coat, "Why do you have it so cold?"

"You tell me."

"I don't think you want me to." He said sincerely.

I signed and went back to watching the rain fall on the side on the window. My breathing fogged up the window so the picture faded.

"You haven't ate today. There's no dishes in the sink nor has the washer been used today. It smells like stale cleaning supplies and cigarettes. But you don't smoke, you just like the lingering smell from past visitors. You feel like you can connect with them. Understand their experiences. You're clearly depressed. Loss in interest and appetite, laziness, and very inattentive. You've be prescribed some antidepressants and sleeping pills but you refuse to take them. They make you feel tired and like a zombie, even though that's the point. It's been about thirty-eight hours since you last slept, your bed hasn't been touched. There's dark rings under you eyes and your hair is still yesterday's style. You've rejected cleaning services today because really there is no need for them. You haven't moved from the couch or that ledge since yesterday. Maybe to use the restroom, of course. You're scared to sleep." I looked over at him, "The things you dream about make your real world look at glimpses of heaven. The small muscle spasms you don't even know are there indicate the type of dreams, well nightmares you have. They are about your father and his psychotic behavior that he tries to portray into you by your dreams and thoughts. It's cold in here so you'll stay awake, so you can freeze your thoughts. You don't want to hear him. Because when you do, he sets your world on fire. He burns your body from the inside out."

He had stopped speaking and my mind was drastically left behind, still hearing the words he already spoke. It seemed it took a full minute to finish up understanding what he said. Piecing it together. But once i did i stared at him with a half-surprised look on my face.

"...Did… did you just psychoanalyze me?"

"Is that what it's call?" He put his hands together, smiling proudly.

I've been psychoanalyzed before and i wasn't never sure on whether or not i liked it. Sure It saved me the pressure of having to _speak _about what i feel and why but the unnerving reality that someone could know that by just looking at me was ...creepy. I hated when Hannibal did it, he got sentimental about and always turned it against me. So i forbidden him from analyzing me out loud. Was i going to have to do the same for this guy?

"James, do you know why i was hired to be your therapist?"

"No… enlighten me."

"The attacks...," He pulsed, leaning forward towards me, "You're a rising star in Hollywood, one of the youngest for your age. Yet these fits of psychotic meltdown sets you apart from the norm. That's the last thing you want. But you can't help it. They come on at random times, at any moment. However you've noticed they happen easier when you're stressed out or when there is too much going on around you. You have and can hurt people during these attacks, but you're more likely to hurt yourself." He put his elbows on his knees looking straight in my eyes, "My job is help you stop those attacks or at least help you control them. I know you're desperate James."

I looked away from him slowly, not really connecting to anything else.

"Do you know what happened to the last one who tried to to do that...?"

"I assume it didn't go over well." His foreign accent said.

"He confirmed that indeed humans can not fly."

About two years ago i had another therapist. More of a counselor who tried to stop my attacks, instead he ended up producing one inside me and he went out the window of a thirty story building. Did he survive? You decide.

"He was careless."

"...I'm a monster." I said in almost a whisper.

"You're a victim."

I signed deeply, uninterested. I just wanted to back to looking out the window. Watching the rain fall. It was relaxing. But of all things, i had to do this. Make it stop.

"What are your attacks like? What do you feel, see or hear?" William asked.

"You've done a pretty good job of psychoanalyzing me, i'm sure you can conjure up the answer."

When he gave me no response but the look to continue i rolled my eyes. Then i removed my foot off the ledge, now with both feet planted on the floor i faced towards him. Gripping the edging. Being carefully, choosy on how i wanted to start it out.

"I… i feel like i've lost control. I don't know what i'm doing anymore. I detach from my outer body and coil into a ball on the inside. Quite frankly, i can't feel anything but pain. I'm in pain. I don't want to be, but..." I took a deep breath, stretching my cramped lungs, "I'm on fire, burning alive. My internal screams are masked by the crackling embers. Sometimes… i think i see my skin burn, turning to black, falling apart. Ashes. It… hurts so much. I want to die."

William nodded, listening to me activity.

"Why do you hurt people, or yourself?"

"I don't want too. I don't like hurting people but like i said, i'm not in control. These attacks make a beast out of me. A monster. ...I just want people to understand the pain i'm in, i guess. The agony. I hurt myself because the suffering i'm already in feels like fiction. All in my head." I swallowed my words, hard. Holding back tears, "I just want to be normal... he won't leave me alone. He won't get out of my head!"

"What does he say James?"

I stopped, gripping the ledge tighter, breathing slowly. I didn't want to cry or have an attack. No, God no.

"I don't know...anything. It drives me insane how easy i let him get to me. My ears feel like their bleeding and there's bug crawling under my skin when i hear him. His voice is so loud sometimes... it's the only thing i hear for hours, saying the same thing over and over and over again. I just want it to stop."

"Let me help you James."

"...You can't." I broke pitch.

He stood up, "Yes i can. Just let me try."

I looked up at him with held back tears, "I'll just end up hurting you… bad."

I tried to look down and cry with what shame i had left but i felt William's two cold fingers lift my head up to look at him. Clogged tears blurred the picture of him.

"I'm a excellent therapist. We'll fix this."

I stared at him as he gave a hopefully smile. Even with no sign of the sun i could just barely see a glowing light come off him. A glimmer of hope. Can he really fix this, fix me?

It came in like a gust of wind. Calm, slow and quiet. But i hardly heard the repeating whispering words fly by me, sending chills down my spine. It was two more circling blows before i could hear what was being said correctly. The sound of my father's voice danced around my head, saying in a hushed tone two words; "_Kill him._"

...Can i trust William?

_There you go chapter three. Next one is back to Hannibal. What did you think? How did i do on Sherlock's deductions? Review, follow, favorite. Thank you! Can you notice a difference in character yet? By the way, yes, Sherlock looks different than normal that's because he's undercover! ^.^ See you later!_


	4. Hannibal: Not Daddy's Favorite

**Psychoanalyze My Deductions.**

**By: Colvin**

**Chapter Four: Hannibal: Not Daddy's Favorite. **

_Tap. Tap. Tap._ The impatient sound of my foot hitting off the floor drove both of us mad. It made the same constant rhythm and pitch again and again. When you listened to it closely it would start to engrave itself into your mind. _Tap. Tap. Tap_, there's not any sound. _Tap. Tap. Tap_, when everyone is around. _Tap. Tap. Tap_, your mind is addicted to the frequency of waves. It was stuck there for you to derive over your mental stability. Repeating words, phrases, sounds, imagines and feelings can make a person lose their sanity and the sound of my foot tapping made me question his.

He could sit there so still for ridiculous amounts of time. Leg folded over the other ever to quaint. Hands brought together, prayer style. The angle he chose to sit made my own spine crack several times. He kept the same stupid, emotionless stare on his face. You couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling. I hated it. How could someone be so robot-like? However, the _tap. Tap. Tap._ Tapping of my foot would sure create a reaction out of him. I'm sure it would. I loved watching him getting annoyed, flustered, and aggravated. His head would twitch to the left, and his foot bounced up slightly. His eye muscles would contract, forcing him to blink. He tried his best to not say something but God, he wanted to. It was right there at the tip of his fancy tongue. The truth of how my foot tapping made him feel. Say it, you know you want to. I want to watch your composer crumble.

Of course, i wouldn't question my sanity. I was in control. I controlled the sound, it's intensity and the ability to stop was one of few things i had power over. If this was one of those mindless test he'd want to me do he'd be the subject this time. Forced to endure my test for as long as i wanted too. I am the commander. He, the compliance and obedience.

Why am i tapping my foot you may wonder. Because my stare was deep as i glared at the man in front of me, tapping my foot, waiting. No one was saying anything. That's why i was tapping. God, i fucking hate waiting. So as some kind of unknown punishment for coming to a halt all the sudden i tapped. Punishment, stress relief and a game all in one. What fun! Normally five minutes into our appointment's i'm running around the room, touching things i shouldn't and being places i don't need to be. Acting like a child. This time though, i _tried _to sit still, in one place. Copy him, but five minutes in and i was antsy, tapping and staring. What was next? Fast! Speak!

"Is… there something you want to talk about James?" He asked me.

I sat up, which made the tapping disappear and the tension relax to completely nothing. Just my eyes looking intently into his. Silence, unless you count the internal taping still going on in our heads.

"I know i told you to never psychoanalyze me out loud and i still stick by my word, but for this moment i give you permission to."

"Why do you want me to?"

"'Cause you're boring me to madness." I said jumping up into my seat, "Go on."

Hannibal, the poor man, continued to sit there, pulsed, unsure if i'd actually given him permission or not. Was it a game? To him and i, everything is a game, however sometimes there are no winners.

"...Well, in this present moment you seemed to have a great deal of bottled up energy for an unknown reason. Maybe you have something to share or just happy to be here. I think i know the answer. You aren't asking me to psychoanalyze you because you want to know your current mental status. That's not something you worry yourself with. But you ask because you want hear what i have to say and how i say it. I must be careful with the words i speak though, you wouldn't want to hear an ugly truth." He head tilted to the side, "James you know you've stayed too long in the darkest part of your subconscious and now you've brought something back with you. The oppressed invented memories of your father. Those invented memories cause you to have episodes that are increasing each time. Why did you bring them back James?"

He leaned forward in his chair, not taking his big hazel eyes off me. Eager for my answer. Proper to the man for trying to look like he cared.

I shrugged my shoulders, throwing up my arms carelessly.

"I'm stressed. This new movie and location has my world ablaze Doctor Lecter. It's apart of the job."

"I see."

"Continue."

"You don't adapt well with changes it seems. You feel vulnerable, weak and a easy target. Yet, you crave adventure, adrenaline inducing activities and a desire you fulfill your father's expectations, no matter the cost. But you don't have much of a choice do you?"

"They'll kill me if i don't successfully exceed my yearly goal."

"I'm aware. Last year you drug your feet to accomplish your said goal James."

"Living in someone else's image is hard." I said nonchalantly.

"I doesn't have to be." He sighed, "You only did it to test the limits of our relationship."

"You pasted so it doesn't matter. You're always five fucking steps ahead of everyone else."

His eyes scanned around the room. Picking up, focusing on particular objects then his attention returned back to me. Language.

"All of that is behind us now, isn't it?" Hannibal faintly smiled.

"Of course." I laughed.

Believe it or not Hannibal was a loyal man. He stuck to his word. Whether he wanted to or not he kept to it. I could trust him. Then again, i didn't have much of a choice. My father hired him more than anything to be my '_guardian angel'_. Protecting me, guiding me, watching me and most of all he was sorta my version of God. If every year i failed to reach my set goal i was to be eliminated by Hannibal Lecter. The only man able to walk away with a free conscious. The only man able to get away with it. My father trusted him so i have to as well.

But just because i _had _to trust him doesn't mean he isn't tested time from time. Just like the refresh button on the internet trust has the same thing. You have to test people. What is new. How much faith can you really put in someone? I wasn't stupid. I was going to find out. Hannibal has yet to fail me and personality, with his high standards for the elements i don't think he ever will. Yes, he may have a strong dislike for me and my intellect but i know he'd miss it if i wasn't around. Who wouldn't?

"You've spent most of this session staring at me, tapping your foot to tempt a reaction out of me but you know i have a high tolerance. And..."

"It's ridiculous." I quickly interrupted but waved for him to continue.

"...And by the looks it this psychoanalyze was mainly to help us ease into a avoided conversation." He leaned back into his seat, propping his leg on the other, licking his lips quickly then speaking slow to me as if i was a child, "What's on your mind?"

Hannibal you loyal, smart yet fake man.

Suddenly, i shot up from my seat and paced around my chair. Watching my steps intently. Sitting was impossible. I had so much to say but little time to say it! My quickness made Hannibal cringe. He hated how unpredictable i was.

"What was my father like?" I said, clearly and cleanly coming out with it.

Hannibal was almost surprised at my bluntness. His eyes widen a bit and his head cocked to the side. He wasn't sure how respond. I wasn't going to beat around the bush with this. Maybe it wasn't my place to ask such a question and maybe… i didn't care.

"Forgive me, it's been well over twenty years since our last gathering. I was only a few years older than you."

His face looked to be thinking immensely hard but i knew he remembered quite well for it effected him for the rest of his life. He was just playing heedfully.

"He was an... erratic man. Much like yourself. It was only in brief moments we actually coincided. But in moments we intelligently discussed our opinions on certain matters. His demeanor was twisted in nature and i'm not sure i understood what he wanted to accomplish. I remember he had a strong desire to toy and terminate a English detective. I don't remember his name now. Tragically, our friendship only lasted for a very short amount of time."

"Did my father _ask _you to basically become my mentor or did you honorably place yourself in that position?"

"He mentioned it."

I drug my feet over to the cot Hannibal had in the middle of his room, throwing my body onto it with a deep sigh. It was like laying on a brick, "I think he'd be disappointed, don't you?"

"I'm not disappointed."

"Yes you are. You're disappointed you were the one to get stuck with me. I'm sure anyone would be, i'm not exactly peaches and cream to navigate." I smiled at the ceiling, "You're disappointed at the possible risk i put you at."

"I owe your father James."

"True, but doesn't mean you have to pretend to enjoy it."

Flustered, Hannibal adjusted in his seat, doing his best to level out his comfort and discomfort. He didn't want to have this talk. It made him remember exactly why he can't simply kill me until told to do so. He hated me, hated this.

"May i ask you something James?" Hannibal said in fake curious voice.

"Knock yourself out." I reply playfully.

"Why do you view me as a fatherly figure rather than your therapist?"

I turned my head toward him, matching my black eyes with his drowned hazel eyes. Sweetly, i smiled, "Because, i'm not daddy's favorite."

"What do you mean?"

I pulled myself up off the cot, swinging my legs to the opposite side away from Hannibal. My vision fixed itself on the slightly swaying curtains in front of me. Innocent white curtain swaying carelessly in the breeze.

"It's like somehow he knew i'd end up this way." I pulsed, taking a deep breath, "Then again, he controls ninety percent of my destiny. I'm the one who has to get their hands dirty. It's not fair i'm the one who had to live the poverty stricken life. Crawling on my hands and knees to complete my goals. He made them nearly impossible to finish. He didn't want me because he knew, somehow he knew i'd just fail him."

There was an awkwardly long pulsed silence between Hannibal and i. Rarely did we have meaningful talks. We both looked at them as glimpse of our weaknesses. Frailty. I hated talking about real things while he hated listening. Win-win-winning.

"Are you sure you just haven't disappointed yourself James?"

I snorted, "I met Ethan Hawke last week, we had coffee together. I'm far from a letdown to myself. In two years time i'll be having brunch with Julia Roberts, John Travolta and Kevin Bacon in italy, on a forty million yacht, drinking wine dating back to the civil war."

"What if this acting career is temporary?"

"I hope not. I'm really enjoying stepping on people."

"I think you have the charisma to be successful."

"I know." I sighed.

Just like every actor you have to start at the bottom, the very bottom. Practically begging for a part in a local play, an add on in a spaghetti western movie or faceless man in World War Two. It takes many years to get to the top. The things some people have to do in order to get there end up ruining their career, or killing them. Those kind of people don't belong in Hollywood.

I was pretty gifted though. I had what it took to shoot, not to the top but somewhere comfortable. In the middle. Form there i could only grow. And here i am, working on a movie that could possibly put me at the top. I wasn't the most important character in the film but it's be enough to do some damage. God, it was pleasurable just thinking about it. I was going to be big.

"I don't view you as a father figure, you are really all i have left of my father."

I stood up, turning back around to find Hannibal sitting exactly where he was in the beginning. So calm it burned to look at it. Nausea.

"I'm nothing like your father." His voice utter in a deep, dark tone. Hannibal was insulted. My, my.

"Oh but you are," I smiled, "Because if you weren't maybe i wouldn't come second best to a middle aged man who can't even pretend to act normal. _Will Graham_. Doctor Lecter didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with your food?"

Hannibal stood up slowly, straightening himself out as he arose. He did his best to collect his composer. It was never a good idea to talk about Will. But i couldn't help it. I was tired of fighting for his attention. I'm what's important to Hannibal, not Will. Fuck him! He's in an asylum rotting away just like he should be.

"Will Graham is not food James." Hannibal said slowly.

"Right, he's your little _prodigy_." I chuckled obnoxiously.

"You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink."

"Then you can always drown it. A stubborn horse is worthless.."

"That doesn't mean you have to kill it. A horse can be broken."

Swiftly and without much movement i put on my coat, looking at Hannibal from under my lashes.

"Will Graham is already broken, you're just having fun shattering him into little, undefinable pieces."

I headed for the door, leaving Hannibal behind me. Normally he would lead me out, but not this time. Talking about Will Graham made his skin crawl, burn and his 'person suit' dissolve. Their relationship was unhealthy and for the solid reason Hannibal was getting attached. Shame. I never saw what he seen in Will. Maybe a large helping of emotionally unstable broken burger with a side of crazy fires.

I opened the door to exit his office, but was stopped by a thought i think i'd to share;

"Man," I sighed, "I wish someone would fuck with my sanity like that. Maybe i'd know what it was like to be special. Even to someone that only had bad intentions."

-End.

_Careful what you wish for!__ James is so jelly of Will! What do you think, does James view Hannibal as a father figure from what you know so far? What kind of relationship should i create with James and Will and Hannibal and Will? How was the psychoanalyze? Reviews, please! Please Favorite, favorite ^.^ back to Sherlock next chapter. _


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